


The Cracked Ceiling

by OceanusAporia



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is hurt but ends up okay, Hal is a little depressed or maybe just in denial, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:48:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanusAporia/pseuds/OceanusAporia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Hal wondered which of Bruce’s kids would be the one to kill him when it was Hal’s fault the self-sacrificing neurotic died.</p><p>Not as plotty as it sounds. Introspection on Hal’s part after Bruce gets hurt during a league mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cracked Ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> **See end notes for spoiler-y overcautious warnings if you're triggered by things related to depression**
> 
> Man oh man I should not be posting this yet! This is stream of conscience writing that has not been beta read and is a grammar atrocity. Couldn’t get the thoughts for it out of my head though, so I figured I’d share. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Sometimes, lying in bed after replaying his latest meet up with Bruce, Hal’s mind would wander off to less pleasant thoughts such as the last battle Batman had fought in. During those times, when Hal couldn’t sleep and his thoughts had turned a little bleaker as he stared at his cracked apartment ceiling he was keenly aware that if he _wanted_ he could instead be in a luxury bed, pleasantly passing out with a much better view to stare at. He was in his crappy little apartment though and there was no point in thinking about _where_ he wasn’t so instead he thought about _what_ wasn’t yet.

Sometimes, Hal wondered which of Bruce’s kids would be the one to kill him when it was Hal’s fault the self-sacrificing neurotic died.

He’d given passing thought to it over the years, when Bruce became embroiled in Lantern politics that Hal wanted nothing to do with and barely made it out of without so much as an ounce of the same kind of protection the ring offered Hal. He considered it after missions where a pantheon of practical Gods ended up looking to Bruce, him included, to solve a problem and make the winning play putting enough pressure on the man to make anyone neurotic and self-sacrificing even if they weren’t already so inclined.

It was morbid and depressing and usually Hal was able to push it out of his mind after a few fleeting thoughts. After all, all sex with Bruce was of the life affirming kind, if he was being honest, and it was hard to still be morbid riding an endorphin high.

There was nothing life affirming in this moment though, the monitors beeping in that annoying way Hal had been convinced only happened on television. Bruce was going to be alright, Clark and J’onn had cautiously told Hal as much when they found him still sitting by the bed this morning, but this time something was different and Hal just…couldn’t get away from the train of thought.

The thoughts had taken up all night. Which kid would kill him if Bruce died on his watch? Because one of them would have to, Hal couldn’t explain it; he just couldn’t see it any other way. 

 

His first thought had been Damian. The kid was still wary of him on a good day – which Hal got really – every kid with parents separated wanted them to get back together. Not that Hal would every use the term parent willingly about Talia Al Ghul – but he always had to shut down that train of thought quickly or risk getting angry enough to try and take on the League of Assassins – and Bruce would absolutely not forgive him for that.

Well, not if he knew it was on his behalf. It was possible, if Hal was convincing enough that it had been done in outrage of Damian’s basically abusive upbringing, Bruce would probably forgive him within a month, tops. But Hal was never a convincing liar and the League of Assassins, he had learned, was depressingly hard to locate. That was all beside the point.

Damian was very much at the age – though Hal doubted it was phase the kid would ever fully grow out of – where he believed his father walked on water. He’d also been more than healthily violent when he’d arrived, including trying to kill Tim for being an adopted son. So odds seemed in favor of Damian. Time, however, changed things. Damian and Tim behaved more like brothers than either would care to admit, and Damian away from brainwashing cultists was sensitive enough to declare himself vegetarian and start turning Bruce’s house into a veritable menagerie of strays – which considering the eclectic handful of adopted children Bruce had gained, Hal was willing to bet was a genetic trait. It seemed to be a Wayne thing – hiding a secretly soft, chipped, heart.

But the point was, Damian probably wouldn’t kill him. To do so would, in the end, dishonor everything that Bruce had stood for and Damian would never do that.

 

Next on the list would be Tim – and while Hal had no doubt the teen could manage the perfect crime, convincing even Superman that Hal had died from natural causes – revenge just wasn’t in Tim’s character. Oh, he would alternatively ignore and treat Hal like shit – but Tim, like Bruce, would bury the anger and blame deep within himself and probably come back reasoning it was somehow his own fault. 

Hal had the strong suspicion that Tim had never and never really would understand Hal and Bruce’s relationship. Hal liked the kid and knew that Tim currently held respect for him, but it was really as if they came from different planets and Tim would decide it had been foolish to trust Hal to have Bruce’s back and therefore his own fault. So, no, it wouldn’t be Tim that killed him. 

 

Cass was…difficult to think about, and the majority of the night Hal had skipped over thinking of her reaction because it was more painful than obsessing over the near miss in the first place. Cass – the truth was – saw too much. Hal had realized it the first time her dark, serious, eyes landed on him and her head had tilted.

Bruce had explained once that Cass had learned the language of motion – of the body and facial expressions – having never been taught how to actually speak. It made her a terrifying fighter and uncannily good at reading a person’s character in a quick glance. Cass was the best fighter of all of them, silent, deadly, wickedly intelligent, but Cass…Cass held too much compassion to hold anger very long.

And Cass would know…

Hal stopped himself. Cass’s reaction would be too close to Alfred’s, that knowing pitying look that he never let himself consider. He would die happy if he never had to see that moment come to life.

But it wouldn’t be Cass.

 

Jason was tough. Hal imagined Jason would be pleased at being difficult to figure out. Hal’s gut reaction was that Jason would be the one to kill him. No matter what the man said, he held a love for Bruce just as fierce as Bruce’s love for him and it had taken Superman to spare the Joker’s life. Jason also had a temper, a terrifying one, and had on more than one actually murdered people.

Really it only made sense that Jason would do it – Hal had seen him go at _Superman_ one time after a mess with Luthor and Kryptonite that Bruce had been typically self-sacrificing over. Sure, Jason and Clark had never really gotten along, but Hal doubted his and Jason’s fragile amusement at each other was going to be enough to save him. Jason was like Bruce, willing to storm hell itself for those he cared for, even if an eon of torture couldn’t make him admit he felt that way.

For some reason, though, Hal could never really see it. He could and did imagine getting beat within an inch of his life, but the finishing blow…Jason, in the end would feel too much hatred at himself and all the unsaid words between himself and Bruce to direct it all at Hal and finish the job.

 

Dick, really, shouldn’t have even been a consideration. After all, it was Dick - always cheerful, ready with a smile, more friendly and forgiving than Bruce or anyone else in the family by light years. Dick was the kind of guy who really didn’t even know how to do evil, and Hal had probably the best relationship with Dick from having known him the longest and well, it being near impossible not to like the man. Hell, Hal had seen Bruce base his assessment of an entire reality on Dick Grayson being a good man.

But that’s where things got complicated, where Hal had paused. For all the problems Bruce and Dick had over the years, the fights and hurts, Hal had the very strong suspicion that Dick was the one person on the planet that Bruce would kill for – and with no hesitation – Superman blocking his way or no. 

Hal couldn’t explain it, it wasn’t that Bruce loved Dick more than his other kids it was just … Dick was so tied to Bruce’s sense of hope.

Dick proved that violence didn’t lead to violence, that good could come even out of evil that some people just truly are _good_ no matter _what_ the world threw at them.

That very belief, that basis of faith, was exactly why Hal thought Dick might be the one to kill him. Hal had a strong suspicion that Dick felt the same way about Bruce. It was why Dick could be so crushingly disappointed in the man but yet defend him tooth and nail. Bruce was as imperfect as a man could be, but he’d never not tried, and he’d never been any kind of man other than a good one – and Dick knew better than most what it took to love after watching those you loved most taken away. 

They were a pair, the two of them, and Hal wondered, if anyone was going to kill him when Bruce died, when he took that kind of hope from the world, if it wouldn’t be Dick.

 

The sudden prickly feeling of being watched snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see cerulean blue eyes assessing him.

“How long have you been awake?” Hal startled. He should probably be asking how Bruce was feeling or saying he was relieved he was okay, but he was embarrassed and they’d both always been awful at this.

“Long enough. Why do you look as if you just made Wally cry?” Bruce returned evenly despite his voice being hoarse from disuse. Bruce was looking at him like a puzzle to be solved – he must have been awake for a while.

Normally Hal would have smiled but this time he knew he missed the mark. “Just wondering which of your kids was going to kill me.” He said weakly and more honestly than he’d intended. He’d mean to make it a joke. 

Bruce’s brows shot up, and he didn’t look like he was going to start laughing. “Because I moved too slowly.” He stated, not asked, clearly unimpressed and looking at Hal as if concerned for his mental state – which really, would always be hilarious considering which of them dressed up as a giant bat.

Hal realized he hadn’t answered and now Bruce was frowning at him.

“Give me a minute and I’ll be able to manage a proper fight.” Hal grimaced.

Bruce looked mildly alarmed now, which meant he was about to call Clark in and get Hal checked over for every known space disease. “Hal –”

Hal looked at his hands, throat tight because it was stupid, this wasn’t even the worst hit Bruce had ever had, really shouldn’t have even compared but… “Usually I’m not there.” Hal blurted before he could stop himself. “And if I am, the situation is so bad it’s likely we’re all going to die anyway so it’s not like I have to…” his throat closed.

_Deal with living without you._

He clenched his fists.

“Hal,” Bruce said again, and Hal couldn’t look up, “I’m fine.”

He almost laughed, because wasn’t that so Bruce? To state a fact as if it would banish all insecurities and fears, as if _fine now_ promised he always would be – but Bruce knew better than to make those promises, never did.

The laugh didn’t actually escape, and his hands unclenched, because that was the thing about Bruce. It wasn’t just a statement, it was a guilty reassurance and Hal knew if he looked up he would see a masked uncertainty on Bruce’s face, a look of regret in his eyes because they always said more than he wanted – were the reason he wore the lenses.

If Bruce died on Hal’s watch, Bruce would blame himself. He would feel guilty and torn for leaving – for not being fast enough, for failing people he had promised he would not voluntarily leave, not with words but in everything he did. His children, Alfred, his friends…Hal.

It hit him then, why he could never quite decide which of Bruce’s kids would kill him for losing Bruce. It was kind of silly really, because there would never be a world where after that he could live with himself.

“ _Hal –_ ”

“You bled all over Clark’s cape.” Hal announced loudly, sitting up again and looking at the wall just past Bruce’s head instead of at the man in question. They didn’t talk about this stuff and Hal had always chalked it up to Bruce but he wondered now if it was really him that had been the coward all the long, him that insisted on staring at the cracked ceiling as if it would somehow protect him.

“On the rest of him too come to think of it. I don’t know how he’s going to get the stains out.” He continued and risked a glance at Bruce who looked unconvinced but vaguely amused.

“He can send me the bill.” Bruce said voice wry even as his eyes were still sharply watching him. Bruce was apparently letting it go but there would be some kind of question about this later, Hal had no doubt.

“Where exactly does one buy a superhero outfit anyway?” Hal continued though, eager to keep the conversation going and actually genuinely curious, because how had he never asked Barry this? “Walmart? Capes R’ Us?” he tried. 

“China.”

Hal blinked at the deadpan response and then – the laugh escaped this time, loud and full and maybe just a tad hysterical.

Clark gave him a concerned look coming into the room, but Hal ignored him, chest feeling lighter than it had in days. He made his goodbyes shortly after, he had Lantern duties he’d put off too long – Clark had frowned but Bruce hadn’t been phased. Hal flew out of the watchtower wondering if when he got back he could enlist Cass’s help in finagling Alfred into making waffles. 

They never talked about this stuff, but Hal was pretty sure there was no better way in Bat-speak, or maybe, to be honest, Hal-speak, to say “I love you too much to ever live without you,” than Alfred’s waffles. 

If Hal wanted to get it across in Bat-speak, it was really probably as simple as staying until breakfast to eat the waffles. He smiled to himself. Yeah, Bruce would get that message loud and clear.

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: I debated about tagging this or not – Hal is feeling a little morbid and self-effacing in this thoughts here – if anything having to do with depression or struggling with life might trigger you then don’t read.
> 
> Some reader's might construe Hal's thoughts as suicidal since he realizes he doesn't want to live in a world where he had to watch Bruce die. It was not my intention to hint suicide, I merely wanted to depict Hal realizing how deeply he felt for Bruce, but you’ve been warned just in case so proceed with caution if that's something that might trigger you. **


End file.
